A Sweet Girl Graduate by L. T. Meade (ebook reader with internet browser txt) 📖

Annie Day and her friend Rosalind ceased to laugh as soon as they turned the corner. Annie now turned her eyes and fixed them on Rosalind, who blushed and looked uncomfortable.

“Well,” said Annie, “you are a humbug, Rose! What a story you told me about Mr. Hammond— how he looked at you and was so anxious to make use of you. Oh, you know all you said. You told me a charming story about your position as gooseberry.’ You expected a little fun for yourself, didn’t you, my friend? Well, it seems to me that if any one is to have the fun, it is Priscilla Peel.”

Rosalind had rather a nervous manner. She bit her lips now; her baby-blue eyes looked angry, her innocent face wore a frown. She dropped her hold of Annie Day’s arm.

Miss Day was one of the most commonplace girls at Heath Hall. She had neither good looks nor talent; she had no refinement of nature nor had she those rugged but sterling qualities of honesty and integrity of purpose which go far to cover a multitude of other defects.

“I wish you wouldn’t speak to me in that way,” said Rosalind with a little gasp. “I hate people to laugh at me, and I can’t stand sneers.”

“Oh, no! you’re such a dear little innocent baby. Of course, I can quite understand. And does she suppose I’ll ruffle her pretty little feathers? No, not I. I’d rather invent a new cradle song for you, Rosie, dear.”

“Don’t, don’t!” said Rosalind. “Look here, Annie, I must say something— yes, I must. I hate Maggie Oliphant!”

“You hate Miss Oliphant?” Annie Day stood still, turned round and stared at her companion. “When did this revolution take place, my dear? What about Rose and Maggie sitting side by side at dinner? And Rose creeping away all by herself to Maggie’s room and angling for an invitation to cocoa, and trying hard, very hard, to become a member of the Dramatic Society, just because Maggie acts so splendidly. Has it not been Maggie— Maggie— ever since the term began, until we girls, who were not in love with this quite too charming piece of perfection, absolutely hated the sound of her name? Oh, Rose, what a fickle baby you are. I am ashamed of you!”

“Don’t!” said Rose again. She linked her hand half timidly in Miss Day’s arm. Miss Day was almost a head and shoulders above the little, delicate, fairy-like creature. “I suppose I can’t help changing my mind,” she said. “I did love Maggie, of course I loved her— she fascinated me; but I don’t care for her— no, I hate her now!”

“How vehemently you pronounce that naughty word, my fair Rosalind. You must give me some reasons for this grievous change in your feelings.”

“She snubbed me,” said Rosalind; “she made little of me. I offered to do her a kindness and she repulsed me. Who cares to be made little of and repulsed?”

Who, truly, Rosie?— not even an innocent baby. Now then, my love, let me whisper a little secret to you. I have never loved Miss Oliphant. I have never been a victim to her charms. Time was when she and Miss Lee— poor Annabel!— ruled the whole of our hall. Those two girls carried everything before them. That was before your day, Rose. Then Miss Lee died. She caught a chill, and had a fever, and was dead in a couple of days. Yes, of course, it was shocking. They moved her to the hospital, and she died there. Oh, there was such excitement, and such grief— even I was sorry; for Annabel had a way about her, I can’t describe it, but she could fascinate you. It was awfully interesting to talk to her, and even to look at her was a pleasure. We usedn’t to think much about Maggie when Annabel was by; but now, what with Maggie and her mystery, and Maggie and her love affair, and Maggie and her handsome face, and her wealth, and her expectations, why she bids fair to be more popular even than the two were when they were together. Yes, little Rose, I don’t want her to be popular any more than you do. I think it’s a very unhealthy sign of any place to have all the girls sighing and groaning about one or two— dying to possess their autographs, and kissing their photographs, and framing them, and putting them up in their rooms. I hate that mawkish kind of nonsense,” continued Miss Day, looking very virtuous, “and I think Miss Heath ought to know about it, and put a stop to it. I do, really.”

Rosalind was glad that the gathering darkness prevented her sharp companion from seeing the blush on her face, for among her own sacred possessions she kept an autograph letter of Maggie’s, and she had passionately kissed Maggie’s beautiful face as it looked at her out of a photograph, and, until the moment when all her feelings had undergone such a change, was secretly saving up her pence to buy a frame for it. Now she inquired eagerly:

“What is the mystery about Miss Oliphant? So many people hint about it, I do wish you would tell me, Annie.”

“If I told you, pet, it would cease to be a mystery.”

“But you might say what you know. Do, Annie!”

“Oh, it isn’t much— it’s really nothing; and yet— and yet—”

“You know it isn’t nothing, Annie!”

“Well, when Annabel died, people said that Maggie had more cause than any one else to be sorry. I never could find out what that cause was; but the servants spread some reports. They said they had found Maggie and Annabel together; Annabel had fainted; and Maggie was in an awful state of misery— in quite an unnatural state, they said; she went into hysterics, and Miss Heath was sent for, and was a long time soothing her. There was no apparent reason for this, although, somehow or other, little whispers got abroad that the mystery of Annabel’s illness and Maggie’s distress was connected with Geoffrey Hammond. Of course, nothing was known, and nothing is known; but, certainly, the little whisper got into the air. Dear me, Rosalind, you need not eat me with your eyes. I am repeating mere conjectures, and it is highly probable that not the slightest notice would have been taken of this little rumor but for the tragedy which immediately followed. Annabel, who had been as gay and well as any one at breakfast that morning, was never seen in the college again. She was unconscious, the servants said, for a long time, and when she awoke was in high fever. She was removed to the hospital, and Maggie had seen the last of her friend. Poor Annabel died in two days, and afterward Maggie took the fever. Yes, she has been quite changed since then. She always had moods, as she called them, but not like now. Sometimes I think she is almost flighty.”

Rosalind was silent. After a while she said in a prim little voice, which she adopted now and then when she wanted to conceal her real feelings:

“But I do wonder what the quarrel was about— I mean, what really happened between Annabel and Maggie.”

“Look here, Rosalind, have I said anything about a quarrel? Please remember that the whole thing is conjecture from beginning to end, and don’t go all over the place spreading stories and making mischief. I have told you this in confidence, so don’t forget.”

“I won’t forget,” replied Rosalind. “I don’t know why you should accuse me of wanting to make mischief, Annie. I can’t help being curious, of course, and, of course, I’d like to know more.”

“Well, for that matter, so would I,” replied Annie. “Where there is a mystery it’s much more satisfactory to get to the bottom of it. Of course, something dreadful must have happened to account for the change in Miss Oliphant. It would be a comfort to know the truth, and, of course, one need never talk of it. By the way, Rosie, you are just the person to ferret this little secret out; you are the right sort of person for spying and peeping.”

“Oh, thank you,” replied Rosalind; “if that’s your opinion of me I’m not inclined to do anything to please you. Spying and peeping, indeed! What next?”

Annie Day patted her companion’s small white hand.

“And so I’ve hurt the dear little baby’s feelings!” she said. “But I didn’t mean to— no, that I didn’t. And she such a pretty, sweet little pet as she is! Well, Rosie, you know what I mean. If we can find out the truth about Miss Maggie we’ll just have a quiet little crow over her all to ourselves. I don’t suppose we shall find out, but the opportunities may arise— who knows? Now I want to speak to you about another person, and that is Maggie’s new friend.”

“What new friend?” Rosalind blushed brightly.

“That ugly Priscilla Peel. She has taken her up. Any one can see that.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.”

“But I do— I am sure of it. Now I have good reason not to like Miss Priscilla. You know what a virtuous parade she made of herself a few nights ago?”

“Yes, you told me.”

“Horrid, set-up minx! Just the sort of girl who ought to be suppressed and crushed out of a college like ours. Vaunting her poverty in our very faces and refusing to make herself pleasant or one with us in any sort of way. Lucy Marsh and I had a long talk over her that night, and we put our heads together to concoct a nice little bit of punishment for her. You know she’s horridly shy, and as gauche as if she lived in the backwoods, and we meant to ‘send her to Coventry.’ We had it all arranged, and a whole lot of girls would have joined us, for it’s contrary to the spirit of a place like this to allow girls of the Priscilla Peel type to become popular or liked in any way. But, most unluckily, poor, dear, good, but stupid, Nancy Banister was in the room when Prissie made her little oration, and Nancy took her up as if she were a heroine and spoke of her as if she had done something magnificent, and, of course, Nancy told Maggie, and now Maggie is as thick as possible with Prissie. So you see, my dear Rosalind, our virtuous little scheme is completely knocked on the head.”

“I don’t see—” began Rosalind.

“You little goose, before a week is out Prissie will be the fashion. All the girls will flock around her when Maggie takes her part. Bare, ugly rooms will be the rage; poverty will be the height of the fashion, and it will be considered wrong even to